


different sides

by softambrollins



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 06:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softambrollins/pseuds/softambrollins
Summary: "Seth, we need to talk," Dean tells him firmly. "For real. Not likethis." He squeezes the phone in his hand hard for emphasis. He wishes he could strangle the life out of it or smash it to pieces with his bare hands right now. Dean really fucking hates smartphones. And the internet. And people. Today more than usual.





	different sides

**Author's Note:**

> This is really weird, and it probably makes zero sense. I never thought that this is why I'd be writing fic again, but Seth decided to act like a dumbass, so here we are. This is obviously 100% fiction, and I don't claim to know what any of the real people are feeling about any of this. I'm just trying to deal with my own feelings.

_So, Seth's officially lost his fucking mind_ , is the first thing he thinks when he finally gets a signal again and notifications start flooding in. 

He scrolls through them, skimming quotes and questions, trying to piece together the full story. _Did you see this? Did you know about this?_ Links to articles with headlines like: _Seth Rollins Fires Back At Dean Ambrose_ and _Seth Rollins Defends WWE_.

There's nothing from Seth himself. No messages. No missed calls. It almost feels like an ambush.

There's only one text from Roman which just says, _Please come get your boy._

He clicks on a link and gets taken to the podcast. Clicks play. He's only listened to about ten minutes when he stops, hits pause. He sets his phone down on the kitchen table for a second, just breathing, processing. Then he picks it back up, and calls Seth.

He doesn't know if he expects him to pick up or not. Maybe he's busy. Or maybe he's deliberately avoiding this exact conversation. To his credit, he picks up after a couple rings.

"Hey, man," he says, and his voice is muffled and stranger than usual. 

"Can we talk? Are you busy?" Dean asks, clipped.

"No, no, it's fine." He sounds resigned now.

"Okay. So apparently we're the biggest fucking story in all of pro-wrestling and I had no idea. Crazy, huh? Congrats, man. We should throw a party. Invite all the indie dudes you also took a massive shit on."

Seth lets out a heavy sigh on the other end. "I didn't want you to find out like this."

"Well, I was in the middle of the fucking desert minding my own business and then I come back to civilisation after being gone all day to _this_. What am I _supposed_ to think?" he asks incredulously.

"I just — I don't know," Seth says, sounding frantic. "It's not a big deal. Everyone's making it into a big deal, but it's not —"

"Did you try to call me? Why didn't you tell me before?" Dean asks, genuinely confused. He's talked to Seth a couple times in the last few months. He always sounds good, sounds happy for him, but he's been sounding different too lately — lonelier, almost, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. And that interview — that didn't sound anything like _his_ Seth. It sounded like someone else, a stranger, someone selfish and vindictive and terrible. Someone he was glad to leave in the past. And he thought Seth was too.

"I'm sorry," Seth breathes. "It just kind of happened. And it sounded way worse than I meant it. But now it's out there, and people are gonna think what they want."

"I don't fucking care what _people_ think, Seth," he says bluntly. "What the hell did you mean by it?"

"Nothing, okay?" he bursts out. "I didn't mean anything. I just — Everything's fucking shit right now. And you're not here. And I thought I was okay with that. But maybe I'm not. And you didn't even fucking _tell_ me — I had to find out when you just showed up out of the crowd, like everyone else, like a fucking idiot."

"We've talked about this. You said you were fine with it." He regrets not telling him sometimes, but he'd thought it would be better this way. Telling him would feel like too much of a betrayal, and there was too much betrayal between them already. He had to do what he needed to, for himself. If Seth was hurt, then he'd get over it with time.

"Maybe I'm not. Maybe all of this is too much," he says, voice starting to crack.

"What?"

"I don't know. The fans threatening to riot. The fucking company falling apart on my watch. _Us_." He sounds exhausted, defeated.

"Seth —" 

"No, I just, I'm sorry. That was shitty and I should've told you it was coming out before. And I didn't mean it. I was just fucking frustrated and angry at everything." He takes a deep breath.

"Seth, we need to talk," Dean tells him firmly. "For real. Not like _this_." He squeezes the phone in his hand hard for emphasis. He wishes he could strangle the life out of it or smash it to pieces with his bare hands right now. Dean really fucking hates smartphones. And the internet. And people. Today more than usual.

"Okay," Seth agrees after a second. "I'll see you in a couple days."

*

He picks him up at the airport and Seth doesn't say anything in the car the whole drive back.

He lets him in the kitchen door. Seth drops his bags on the floor and paces around for a second, like he's collecting himself, before he leans back against the counter. He turns his head to look out the window contemplatively, biting his lip, before glancing back at Dean.

Dean finally turns to face him, folding his arms over his chest.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks him, quietly, seriously.

Seth laughs softly, bitterly. "Are you and the internet worried about my mental health?" he asks mockingly.

"I don't know. Should I be?" Dean says evenly.

Seth gets a weird, distant look in his eyes, taking a moment before speaking again. "You ever just want something so bad, and then you get it, and it's not what you thought it would be?"

"It's not your fault, Seth," Dean tells him honestly. "The ratings. The empty seats. The fucking keyboard warriors. This shit just happens sometimes. It's the business."

Seth shakes his head. "Yeah, it's not my fault," he repeats, almost to himself. And then he raises his eyes up to meet Dean's gaze head-on, swallowing hard. "But maybe it's _yours_."

Dean's eyes widen in surprise. "Seth, I —"

"I know," Seth cuts him off. "I know. You didn't mean for any of this to happen. But you didn't make it any better. Everyone thinks it's fine to just trash everything we do now. We can't get a break. It's like you opened up the floodgates."

"I didn't lie about anything. I said how I felt. I wasn't happy. I left. It has nothing to do with you or anyone else," he tells him gently.

"You're not the only one leaving, though." This is Seth's dream, always has been, to be the guy in WWE. And now he's finally champion and the ratings are plummeting and it's like he's the captain of a sinking ship and everyone's bailing out, leaving him trapped and alone, without a lifeline. Slowly descending to the bottom of the sea. Drowning with no one to see or hear.

"It's gonna be fine," Dean assures him. "It's rough right now, and maybe you're gonna lose people and lose fans, but the tide will turn again."

"Easy for you to say. You know you're the hottest thing in all of wrestling right now, right?" He doesn't sound bitter, just vaguely sad almost.

"Are you jealous?" Dean says, and it's supposed to be teasing, but maybe it hits a bit too close to home.

Seth just shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face.

"I didn't know. How unhappy you were. I think I was mad at myself for not realising sooner. And maybe it fucking hurts because I look at you now, in Japan or in a fucking high school gym, doing what you've always wanted, what you really love, and I think… _He's never gonna be that happy with me_."

"Seth —" Dean exhales shakily.

"I'm a fucking idiot. I thought it was one of those dumb, romantic cliches. If you love something, let it go, you know? But you're not gonna come back. So where does that leave us?"

Dean doesn't have an answer. He can't promise he's gonna come back. He can't promise anything. He's just looking at what's right in front of him now. There's no guarantees to anything. And there's something appealing about that. In facing the unknown and the unexpected with every single step. It's how he's always wanted to live, and he couldn't before, not with Seth and Roman, no matter how much he loves them. He had to carve his own path. 

"Apparently, it leaves _you_ trying to fight the world on twitter," Dean says weakly.

Seth laughs, then visibly cringes. "Yeah, it was a bit much, huh? I just didn't know what else to do. These last couple days, it's just felt like everything's crashing down around me. An onslaught. And it's not stopping. It's just one thing after another."

"You were feeling too much shit and you lashed out at the person you care about the most. Because you knew I'd love you anyway. Even at your worst. Can't say I don't know what that's like," Dean says with a shrug.

"I'm sorry," Seth says again. "I was a total fucking asshole. And you didn't deserve any of that."

Dean nods. "How about next time, you actually call me and talk to me about this shit before you try to start another fucking Monday Night War while I'm sleeping or something, okay?"

Seth gives him just a hint of a smile, but it's real, genuine, for the first time. "Okay, I will. I promise."


End file.
